


Crossroads

by Kat_Lovegood



Category: Layton Kyouju Series | Professor Layton Series
Genre: Azran Legacy Spoilers, Character Study, Gen, Post-Azran Legacy, Suicide Attempt, just... just to avoid triggering someone I put this in the tags, sorta...
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-16
Updated: 2020-07-16
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:47:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23177950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kat_Lovegood/pseuds/Kat_Lovegood
Summary: When two people, who are trying to run from mistakes past, meet in the middle of a lonely jungle, things are bound to get interesting...- A character study of Emmy Altava and Desmond Sycamore, Jean Descole and Hershel Bronev -
Relationships: Enmy Altava & Desmond Sycamore
Comments: 15
Kudos: 13





	1. A Strange Reunion

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! Hope you all out there are doing okay :)
> 
> Thanks to recent events I had plenty of time to myself, and this is something I came up with during that time...
> 
> Have a few chapters already planned out, and I also want to add some stuff on Emmy and Raymond and so on soon, but am not quite sure how to go about it yet. Might happen, might not... But as this has not really any plot, I don't think you will experience cliffhangers ;)
> 
> Stay safe guys! Reviews/Comments are always appreciated :)

The young woman exploring in the midst of a jungle, somewhere in a strange country, was shivering. It had been so hot, so unbearably hot in the woods. But now it was dark and the air was cold and damp. Emmy Altava, the new World Times photographer, could barely see her own feet on the muddy ground of the cave. She had been walking for a while now, her electric torch grew weaker by the minute. But she just needed to go in a little bit further, then she would be sure. Could be sure that she had been wrong, that the runes on the wall were not of Azran origin, that there was nothing here that could lead to further danger to the world, that her past was not trying to catch up with her. Her breath grew quicker as she walked faster, the dim light going out.  
  
But there was a small shimmer on the other side of the tunnel, she only had to reach it. Emmy ran. She did not know why, but she was scared. Her head felt light, she was dizzy and disorientated. She had never been scared of the dark, or dangerous ruins, but right here, right now, her heart was racing, cold sweat dripping from her forehead. She was running away from something. Was it the cave? Was it her own past, her guilt, her betrayal trying to catch up with her? The ground broke away under her feet. She must have stumbled right into a trap, must have activated a destructive mechanism she had always been warned to avoid. She tried to run faster, to run to the light, but it was no use. She was falling, falling deep into the dark. And then there was a voice. A voice calling her name, faintly in the distance.  
  
When Emmy opened her eyes again, there was light. Lots of light, very bright and blinding to her eyes so she closed them immediately. Her head hurt, no, every part of her body seemed to hurt. Slowly she decided to move her muscles. It accelerated the pain, but as far as she could tell there were no broken bones. She tried to sit up, but her head started to spin. And then there was that voice again, a familiar voice, though she could not yet remember where she had heard it.  
  
"Oh, you are finally awake Miss… Emmy."  
  
She just gave a feeble "Mmh" as a response, trying to blink. First, the images were hazy, but after a few seconds, she realized where she was, recognized the purple cushions she was lying on, the dark wooden ornaments on the ceiling, even the blanket that was gently placed over her body. She knew where she was, even though it did not really make sense to her. How could she be here? What was she doing here, no, what was he doing here?  
  
She looked up, to see a man in a plain white shirt with rolled-up sleeves, dark trousers and long auburn hair, loosely tied back. His large, russet eyes stared back at her, displaying genuine concern and anxiety. And sadness. There was nothing to shield them, no glass and no mask, and Emmy felt as if she could stare right into the man's soul. And he must have noticed, as he quickly turned his back to her to dip a towel into a bowl of water on the table.  
  
"How are you feeling?", he asked before removing a damp cloth from the young woman's forehead, carefully replacing it with the fresh towel.  
  
"Pretty horrible", she answered.  
  
He said nothing.  
  
"How did I end up here? Did I fall down into these ruins? I remember going up to a cave in the woods...", she asked, her voice trailing off.  
  
He turned to the window before he spoke.  
  
"When I found you, you were lying in front of the cave's entrance, unconscious. Given the high fever and the rash on your arms, I deduced you must be suffering from Zevu Fever. The local mosquitos carry the disease, and the onset can be quite spontaneous and intense."  
  
"So you found me and brought me here?"  
  
"That is correct."  
  
"Why?"  
  
He returned from the window and sat down on the other end of the couch before he answered.  
  
"If you are wondering why in the world it was me who found you, I must confess that I can not give you a sufficient answer. Is it fate, and if so, is it fortune or misfortune? Or is it simply the continuation of an impossible series of coincidences that have shaped our lives? I do not know. Is there even a difference?"  
  
"Please stop, you are making my head hurt even more. I just wanted to know why you took me here."  
  
"Oh. Well, I… I obviously could not leave you there."  
  
"Thank you, then…", she said, and at this moment she realised that she did not know what to call him. He did not look, or, for that matter, act like Descole, but she could not call him Professor Sycamore either, not after everything that had happened. And then there was the other name, the one the Professor, or rather Luke had told her about… He was not a stranger to her, she had travelled with this man for so long and she knew some of his darkest secrets, and yet she did not even know what to call him.  
  
"Who are you?", she asked after a moment of silence.  
  
He smiled a bittersweet smile, as if deeply sad yet faintly amused, and answered: "I don‘t know. I wish I did."  
  
Emmy said nothing to this response, though she did understand what he meant. He was lost, just like she was, he had lost his place in the world, and more than that, he had lost himself.  
  
Emmy closed her eyes again, all this thinking made her head pound even worse. She was almost falling asleep again when she suddenly detected a sour smell in the air. She blinked once more, only to find a test tube filled with a steaming, ominously green liquid in front of her face.  
  
"What on earth is this? It smells terrible!", she exclaimed.  
  
"Your medicine. I distilled a special plant the locals use to treat this illness, to make the remedy more effective", he answered flatly.  
  
"Are you sure you are not just trying to poison me?"  
  
"If I wanted you dead, I would have left you in the forest. If I wanted to see you suffer, I would have better means than to poison you. So no, it is not poisonous."  
  
"Prove it then. Drink some yourself!", Emmy demanded.  
  
He looked at her, startled. She could see surprise, anger and amusement pass over his face in quick succession.  
  
"Fine", he said before taking a sip of the green mixture, shuddering afterwards. "I admit this tastes rather… unappetizing."  
  
"I do not want it then."  
  
"But it will alleviate the fever and the muscle pains plaguing your body at the moment."  
  
Emmy reached for the tube and quickly gulped down the remaining liquid. "Disgusting", she said simply, before turning her head to the fabric of the sofa, trying to fall asleep as quickly as possible.


	2. Just Talk

When she awoke a few hours later, the sun was beginning to set and she could hear voices. Her host and his butler were having a conversation, as it seemed, and she deemed it impolite to interrupt them now. Or at least she was interested in what they had to say.

"A guest, Master? And Miss Emmy no less! What an extraordinary coincidence."

"Yes, if that is what you want to call it. I found her this morning, at the entrance of a cave in the woods and deemed it… necessary to bring her here. She was suffering from fever, rather badly as it seemed, and I thought it wise to… to look after her, I suppose. Make sure that she receives the proper treatment. With the medicine I have given her, she should be much better by tomorrow morning, and then we can all forget that this ever happened."

"Alright, Master. It is very kind of you to do this for her."

There was no answer. The conversation seemed over, and so Emmy decided to sit up once more. Whatever the ill-tasting mixture the man had given her was, it definitely seemed to be doing its job. Emmy‘s headache had lessened considerably, she did not feel completely disorientated anymore and she was suddenly very aware of the high temperature of her body.

Raymond, of course, had noticed her rising and immediately rushed to her side.

"Ah, Miss Emmy, how nice to have you here. I hope you are not feeling too poorly. Can I bring you something, a cup of tea or a glass of water, maybe?"

"Water would be nice, Raymond", the young woman answered with a smile.

The old Scotsman quickly nodded and went off down the corridor.

"As efficiently as ever, good old Raymond, isn‘t he?", Emmy said to the man standing uncertainly between the sofa and the corridor.

"Yes, he is. I am very grateful to have him here", he answered quietly.

"So, what are you doing here, then? Is there any particular reason you are here or are you just trying to run away from it all, trying to hide from the world?", she wanted to know. Better to confront these things than to beat around the bush forever.

"I assume you could call it that. Surely the British police are frantically searching for... Descole, still?"

Emmy smiled. So he had been so apathetic and reclusive that he had not even heard this news?

"Oh, not really. They have found him, or so they think," she said conversationally.

He looked downright shocked at this reply. "How?", was all he managed to say.

Emmy grabbed her backpack, which had been set down carefully next to the sofa, and – after some searching through a map with various cutout newspaper articles and the occasional polaroid – she handed him a piece of paper, apparently a scrap from a recent edition of the World Times.

"The recently incarcerated Target leader, Leon Bronev admitted to having used the disguise in order to uncover the secrets of the Azran. The police were delighted at that explanation, especially after it could be backed up by a ton of evidence found in the Target headquarters. He had copies of blueprints of almost all of Descoles machines and inventions. There were financial documents that could be backtracked to Bronev‘s account from shortly after he had joined the organization. He could give detailed accounts of the way all Descole‘s plans were carried out. Inspector C. Grosky is optimistic about the upcoming trial."

The man in front of her had gone pale and sat down opposite to her. Emmy could see the thoughts rushing through his mind.

"How… but… why? Wasn‘t… wasn‘t Layton…?"

"I think Professor Layton was pretty happy with things turning out this way. The… the truth, the whole truth, I mean, would be an awful scandal for himself, too. I mean, if he had told them about you, he would have to tell the police not just about Desmond Sycamore and Jean Descole, but also about Hershel Bronev as well, wouldn‘t he? And about Theodore… and I don‘t think he would like that. And maybe he thinks he… owes you."

"So… you understand all of it, then, do you?"

"Understanding is a bit much, perhaps. But I know of everything that you said to the Professor in the Sanctuary. Luke told me."

"I see..."

"I assume the Professor was a bit overwhelmed by the whole affair. He did not show it, of course, he never would, but it must have rattled him quite badly. Really, it is so hard to tell what Professor Layton is thinking, or feeling, and I doubt it matters much to him himself. He just goes on, as usual, continuing to do mostly what people expect him to do. I have heard he helped the widow of a certain British aristocrat to solve an inheritance dispute recently..."

The man opposite her gave a small laugh.

"Yes, that sounds quite like him. Hershel Layton, archaeologist, puzzle-solver and a perfect gentleman."

Emmy laughed a bit herself. "I wonder if he was always like that...", she mused. Then she noticed the look in her host's face. He was staring towards the wall, that sad, melancholic expression intensified.

"Oh, I am sorry, I should not have...", Emmy began. But she was presently interrupted.

"Oh no, it is alright… I have been thinking about it often since that last day of our journey together. It is strange to do it now, after everything that has happened, because back then it was all so... happy – and so ordinary. Our parents had immigrated from Eastern Europe, as there were certain political instabilities there at the time, and as my mother was Jewish we could not stay there. I had been born a few months before we came to Britain, and Theodore was born about three years later. We lived in a tiny village, in a cottage with a big garden where my mother grew Sunflowers and Theo and I played for hours. They were… simpler times.

But, alas, you wanted to know about Layton, didn‘t you? Well, he was a shy young boy, smart and well-mannered, but he was often afraid of strangers, and he did not like Thunderstorms. But he liked stories, adventure-stories, and ghost-stories. Theodore was always very curious, but cautious. He always got terribly afraid when one of my little experiments in the garden shed went wrong and caused a minor explosion..."

"So your parents let you play with explosives when you were only about seven or eight?", Emmy interjected.

"Well, my mother worked in a research laboratory at the time, she was a scientist in her own right and sometimes she brought me some materials to experiment with. Nothing really dangerous, but some things were… flammable, so to speak. Of course, I had to promise to be careful, but I confess that I did get carried away from time to time. During the week, our parents often spend most of their time at work. That was during the war, and so most grown-ups were busy in the industry. I think that… father had to spend quite a bit of time deciphering encrypted messages from the other side, rather than on his research.

And my mother was doing valuable scientific experiments. But of course, money was scarce, and we could not afford to hire someone to look after Theodore and me and clean the house and such. And I thought to build a vacuum cleaner that could be controlled like a toy car, and a self-made electric kettle would make life more… fun, I suppose. They were certainly fun to build, and Theodore liked to watch and hand me the right tools and such… It was not always easy, but we were together, as a family. Went on picnics at nearby excavation sites. Fell asleep to ancient myths, made into bedtime stories. Played adventurers in the backyard. Until..."

His face grew dark all of a sudden, anger flashing into his eyes.

"Until they came. It was a quiet night in the spring, everything seemed perfectly normal. Father had published an article on the Azran just a short while before they found us. It was a small cult back then, obsessed with ancient organizations… They came into our house, threatened our parents. Took them with them. Father shouted. Theodore cried, our mother tried to calm us down. It was the last time I saw her… she told me to look after my brother and then… they were gone. Just gone."

He paused briefly, staring at the wall again. Strangely enough, he was relieved to tell her what started to become the story of his life. It was nice to have her there, listening. Just listening, not trying to reassure him of anything, only listening.

"And then you and Theodore were left all alone? Was there no one who looked after you? No police to investigate your parents' disappearance?", the young woman asked him.

"Well, a short time later some people did come to our house. I am not sure if they were police or not. But, as I already said, it was a time of war. They were concerned about my report, but I assume they thought enemy spies had abducted our parents or something along those lines… From a purely rational point of view I can not blame them, it seemed the far more likely solution – and after all, how credible is the account of a small, traumatized child to the police? Back then I was very upset about it, of course.

The orphanages were almost overflowing at the time, and so the authorities were going to leave us there, only with a small allowance for food and clothes. And we managed to get by. It was a sad and lonely time, dull and colourless. I would wake up, prepare breakfast and lunch for the two of us, wake up Theodore, eat, take him to school before going to class myself. Coming home in the afternoon, cleaning, shopping, playing a bit with Theo. Prepare dinner, eat again, take Theo to bed.

He would sometimes cry for hours, I told him all sorts of stories, how we would rescue our parents and such. Then, after he was well asleep, I would often sneak into fathers study and read until I was so tired that the physical exhaustion deprived me of all worries and I could finally find some sleep myself. It went like this for a month. Bills piled up. I would go down to the village and work, repair peoples cars or heating for a little extra money. I think I even fixed the local doctor‘s x-ray machine once.

And then, one day, a letter came. About half a year had passed since our parents were gone by then, and I was not sure how long I and Theodore could live like that. I think I felt joy for the first time in months when the postman handed me the letter – but that only lasted until I read it. And then I had to make up my mind about what to do. And I made a choice."

Another pause.

"You chose to give up your name so that your brother could be happy", Emmy said quietly, knowing what would come now.

"Yes. I knew that it would be his death to leave him alone there, that he could not take care of himself alone. And how hard it would be to raise him myself… So he went home with the Laytons that day. Home – what a word. When we parted, I was sure we would meet again, one day. But I would have never imagined under what circumstances our reunion would occur. And then, I was alone. Truly and utterly alone. I had lost my family, and as far as the world was concerned, I simply stopped to exist. I burnt all the papers that would give me away as Hershel Bronev. I chose a new name for myself."

"Desmond Sycamore, I assume?", Emmy guessed.

"Your assumption is correct. Anyway, as Desmond Sycamore, I applied to a boarding school and eventually received a scholarship. It was a good school, and I did very well in class, but outside of the classroom, I was always as quiet as possible. Everything about myself, about who I was, had to be kept a secret – if not for my own, then for Theodore's sake.

I had to be careful, spinning a web of lies as I did, to not get caught up in it myself. I had to make up who my parents were, and where I lived and I was perpetually afraid to slip up and get found out. So I spend most of my time studying in the library, mostly focusing on the Azran civilisation at first, though the information on the subject was rather thin. I hunted for clues in other old texts, Egyptian and Persian ones than Latin, greek and Assyrian. And if I wasn‘t doing that, I would read science textbooks, or later run my own little experiments in the laboratory, with the teacher's permission. And then there was the fencing society, which my head of studies pushed me into.

It was quite fun, actually, to spend some time with my peers without fearing to expose myself as the fraud that I was. Later I also got involved in my English teachers book club, where everyone would have tea and converse about some piece of detective fiction or gothic novel, and it was possible to have a conversation without falling back on private matters.

My summers were spent in that old house on the hill, where I would study even more, or work on my own little inventions. Most of the early works were quite amateurish, but a few were good enough to be patented and sold. Even though the scholarship paid for my education, I needed money for the upkeep of the house, clothing and so on. Those were the first appearances of Jean Descole, the scientist. I got the name from one of my father‘s stories, and it seemed safer to use my talent with machinery in secret, to not attract too much attention. At first, when I had just started, I made just enough profit to cover my expenses, but soon enough I constructed bigger and more intricate machines and earnt quite high sums for selling the plans. By that time I had absorbed all the archaeological books available to me, and after I graduated, I enrolled for a degree in archaeology."

"You studied at Gressenheller at first, didn‘t you?", Emmy asked and the man on the other sofa looked surprised.

"So you have done a bit of research about me? Right before I requested Layton‘s help with the ‚living mummy‘, I suppose?"

"Well, I like to be prepared before I embark on an adventure. Your academic record was quite impressive… Graduated top of your class, published your first works, highly regarded by the field, at only 22. Though, wait, you weren‘t even that old then, were you? No, after what you just said, you are only a bit over 3 years older than Professor Layton, so I believe you lied about your age as well when you created your new identity, didn‘t you?", the woman deduced.

"As a matter of fact, I did. I made myself about three years older, to be exact, because I doubted I would pass for older than thirteen. The change made my life easier, I had to falsify fewer forms of parental consent for one. And I could skip a few years of school without people making a fuss about it. The fewer questions people asked, the better." He got up and turned to the window.

Emmy looked at him. She did not know how to feel about what she had just heard. How many people he had told about this, she wondered. His whole life he had to lie to pretty much anyone he met, he must have been lonely. She certainly had been. Presently he turned back to her, looked back, too, with large, haunting eyes. It was silent for a few moments before Emmy spoke.

"And you did all that, worked so hard, only to get… revenge?"

He took a moment before he answered, contemplating how honest he was willing to be to her – and, ultimately, himself.

"Yes… no, not entirely. Revenge was definetly a factor, a growing factor, in my decision to become an archaeologist. But the more I think about it, the more I think that it was mostly the wish to have them back. To get my family back. I… I thought that, if I would discover the Azran legacy, there would be no reason for Targent to exist anymore. That my parents would come home. That I would see Theodore again. That everything would be right again… I was terribly naive, of course. But I was young, and I had… hope, I suppose."

His eyes seemed glassy for a moment as if he was about to cry. But he composed himself again after a moment and smiled weakly.

Emmy was unsure what to do next. He looked so sad at that moment. And so utterly… human. Honest, real. She saw him, she really saw _him_ at that moment, not a mask, not a lie, just him. After everything he had done, after everything that had happened to him, now he was just a man, a quite ordinarily looking, very sad man – and she saw him. And she saw that he was just as lost as she was.

She decided to ask another question – one that might be inappropriate, might hurt him more than she could imagine, but she felt she had to ask it if she wanted to understand him. And he might have to answer it if he ever wanted to find himself again.

"You… you said you were married once. And had a daughter. What um… how…?", she began, but she could not go on. She had meant to ask him how they had died, but she could almost imagine as much. She could see it in his burning, desperate eyes.

"What were they like?", she asked instead.

He smiled again, and she could see that it was a genuine smile, as he seemed to remember them.

"They were marvellous, simply marvellous. I met Alice when I changed universities, she worked in my new department. She was witty, and smart – an exceptional scholar by any means – and passionate. Her laugh was contagious. And she was beautiful. Long, wavy blond hair and deep, sea-green eyes that would sparkle when she was doing her translations..."

"So, it was love at first sight, I imagine?"

"No, it was nothing like that. At first, she was simply another colleague… I did not pay much attention to her. I don‘t think I paid much attention to anyone or anything at the time if I am being honest. I was simply too focused on the work I was doing. Maybe that was what bound us together, our shared passion for archaeology. We would spend long nights translating ancient texts or restoring artefacts. I would carry her over to the couch when she fell asleep over her books, she would make the most excellent tea.

We would talk sometimes, mostly about work at first, and later about other things as well. Then we started going out for lunch together, mostly because our other colleagues insisted that we should take breaks sometimes. And slowly, I realised that I loved her. I wanted to spend the rest of my life with her. I asked her out to the theatre, or to concerts. We moved in together. I met her mother – her father had died in the war, he was a highly decorated navy Admiral. And Raymond. Raymond‘s family had worked for her family for three generations at that point. And one night in May, I proposed to her.

I had planned it all out – a picnic on the hill just out of town, I had prepared fairy lights with self-made batteries and brought a gramophone with her favourite classical music. But once we were there, it immediately started to rain buckets. So we took shelter under the tree. And there I asked her to marry me – and she said yes. We danced in the rain to the music of a drowning gramophone. It was nothing like I had imagined it – but it was perfect anyway. Because she said yes. Because she was there. And nothing else mattered.

I remember it perfectly – walking home in the middle of the night, in the moonlight as the rain had finally stopped. Going back to work the next Monday – both of us had caught quite a chill from the rain – and when the Dean asked whether I was alright I told him that I had never felt better because Alice wanted to marry me. We invited the whole department to the wedding that day – not that we had many other guests to invite. Though I did ask Layton‘s parents to come. And then there was the wedding – it was the best day of my life until then.

For our honeymoon, we travelled to the places where the seven ancient wonders of the world were supposed to be. We bought a tiny, old house with a big garden just outside the town and renovated it together. A short while after we had moved in, Alice got pregnant and soon our little daughter was born. She was the most precious little girl I had ever seen. I was so happy and at the same time so nervous when I held her the first time. We named her Elizabeth – after Alice mother who had recently been diagnosed with dementia. She died when Elizabeth was five, and after that Raymond came to live with us.

Since Lizzie‘s birth, Alice and I had both spend much less time at the university. We did not need the money – I had actually quite a large fortune due to my inventions, of which I had patented more than two dozens by that time, not even for the money itself, but just because I enjoyed the creative process and the experiment. I had a pretty well-equipped lab in the cellar, and Lizzie would enjoy helping me like Theodore did when we were young. She was intelligent, Lizzie. And very interested in science, and ancient glyphs and such. She was never afraid of explosions, but sometimes she hid under her blankets when Alice and I told her a scary bedtime story.

Lizzie was such a sweet child, with long, blond hair like her mothers. She resembled Alice very much – she only had my eyes. I remember that she wanted a cat for her ninth birthday, but Alice was allergic and so I built a little robot kitten – almost exactly like the real thing – as a present for her. We had a birthday party in the garden. Those were the happy days of my life. Almost every day with them was a happy day. Coming home from work, taking turns of getting Lizzie from school and cooking dinner. The expeditions the three of us went on during the summer holidays. Bedtime, quiet nights in. Walks on lazy Sunday afternoons. It was such a nice, normal life we led, until..."

His voice suddenly cracked, as he balled his fists while staring down. Emmy wasn‘t sure if he was about to smash something or simply about to cry. The silence in the room became very uncomfortable all of a sudden and the young woman tried to break it as best as she could.

"You… you don‘t have to tell me if you don‘t want to… don‘t want to relive it now", she said softly, unsure whether she had found the right words.

"I have to relive it every night, every day of my continuing existence, regardless. I‘ve never told anyone, never breathed a word about it, but the thoughts accompany me whenever I stop running from them by turning my mind to something else. It never stops, never, never..."

He had definitely started crying now, a few tears dropping down on the ground, but he wiped them from his face, trying to regain his composure.

"Well, it doesn‘t matter if I tell you now. You want to know, even if you are too afraid to say so… and maybe it will… make me feel at least a little less… miserable if I do, though I must say I doubt it", he said finally, his voice still shaking a bit, even though he tried his best to mask it. He was not looking her into the eyes, either, only glancing over from time to time.

"Anyway, it was on a… a quiet Friday afternoon, in September, almost five years ago now. Alice and I had just come home from a busy day at the university, we had taken Lizzie home from school and Raymond had some time off as he was staying in Scotland with his sister who had broken her leg. It was such an ordinary day, but when we entered the house, something was not right. The gate in the front was unlocked if I remember it correctly, and when we came in, Alice went straight to the kitchen to put down some vegetables she had bought on the market. Lizzie was running up the stairs to put her schoolbag into her room, and I went into the study to put down a box of papers I had to correct over the weekend when suddenly someone grabbed me from behind as I stepped through the door. It all went down rather quick, I was so surprised that I didn‘t have a chance to fight before a cloth soaked with chloroform was pressed on my mouth and nose and I lost consciousness… It‘s funny how well one remembers these things, even after all this time. I could tell you what dress Alice was wearing, and that Lizzie had her hair styled in a high ponytail, and that we had planned to have Ratatouille for dinner...", he remarked with a short laugh, a strange and hollow sound coming from him then. His eyes were staring at the wall opposite of him, or rather through them, as though the events from a time long gone plaid again in front of his mind's eye.

"When… when I regained consciousness, we were on an airship, I think. It was shaking rather badly, as though caught in a storm. I was tied up, next to Alice and Lizzie, who were still out of it. There were two men standing guard, a slim and a bulky one. I asked them where they were taking us, but they didn‘t respond. They did not say anything, in fact. I knew who they were, what they were, of course. Targent agents. I was so, so frightened that day. It was as though my worst nightmare suddenly became true. There were times when I wished to find out more about them, to be brought where my parents were brought, to be there and have a chance to flee, or just to see them again. But I never wanted them to take Alice or Lizzie.

I was so scared, and I felt guilty. So very, very guilty – because it was my fault what was happening, wasn‘t it? If I had never become an archaeologist, or if I had never fallen in love, never married… and I was angry, and a tiny, tiny shred of me hoped that everything would be alright, and that I could see my parents again and that we would all make it out alive and well somehow. And I was drowning in these thoughts until Alice woke up.

And god, she was wonderful. She told those agents that she wasn‘t afraid of them, and she whispered in my ear how everything would be alright. She was so brave, so very brave. And Lizzie woke up too, and Alice calmed her down and after an eternity we were landing. The agents blindfolded us before we could leave the ship, and I could hear them discussing with one another while they were leading us to the tower. About how unusual it was to take a child, what the new leader had planned for her – for us. We were lead down the streets of the city with unseeing eyes – Lizzie tripped over once and hurt her knee. And the guards just forced her to walk on.

At some point, we entered a building, and the blindfolds were taken off. We were in a great hall, decorated with gold and Azran ornaments – the tower in the middle of the city. Alice first instinct was to examine the great orb in the centre, but we were forced to walk on. Lizzie had stopped crying for the moment, and I hugged her tight as we were brought up in the elevator. I think it was the last time I hugged her… she was so scared, and I told her it would be alright. I told her that it would all be alright, somehow. The last thing I ever said to her was a lie...", he stopped himself, as tears began to roll down his cheeks once more.

Emmy knew that he was getting to the bad, horrible part of the story now. To the part where uncle Leon, his father, would somehow kill his wife and child. Some part of her wanted to run away from it all – because, somehow, she ignored these things about Leon Bronev. Until the last moment, until she saw it with her very own eyes, she could not believe that he would... kill someone.

"How… how could he do such a thing?", she mumbled to herself.

Somehow, the man opposite her had heard her. Or maybe he had not and it was just a coincidence that he chose this moment to finish the story.

"I don‘t know how he could do this… or why. When the guards let us in… I couldn‘t trust my own eyes when I saw him there. And he smiled at me and welcomed me there. He called me Hershel, still… It was all so surreal, and it‘s such a blurry image now. I think I was crying… somehow, I was just so happy then. I… I didn‘t think about what it all meant. Until Alice asked him why on earth he had kidnapped us. She… she was angry. Very, very angry. And she told… Bronev off, and asked him what he wanted and that we would never work for someone who would kidnap people like that. And Lizzie started crying again. And I was so, so lost. I don‘t think I said anything, anything at all during that time. It was all so loud and overwhelming, so Bronev shouted for the guards to take Alice and Lizzie out. And then we were all alone in his office.

It‘s so strange – I remember all the unimportant little details so clearly, but this is all a blur. He… he told me how proud he was of my achievements as an archaeologist, and that it would be so wonderful to be working together and that mother would be proud of me too. Of all the things we could do together… that Lizzie would make a wonderful agent once she was older. It was all so much – I asked him why he hadn‘t contacted me in a more civilized manner, and told him that I had a life now, that Alice and Lizzie were my family and that I couldn‘t just ask them to spend the rest of their lives in Targent – how much I hated this organization, and that he should hate it, too. That it had destroyed our family. But he wouldn‘t listen. He… he said that he would have to force me to work for them if I didn‘t want to cooperate. That he would hurt Alice and Lizzie. We… were fighting, all of a sudden, and I shouted at him that I didn‘t care about the Azran and that I just wanted… wanted all of us to go home. And he became so angry. He threatened me. He threatened that he would have to treat me like they treated everyone – that he would have to kill us all. And I didn‘t believe it. I refused to believe it.

I refused to believe that the man who had told me bedtime stories when I was little, who would ruffle my hair and call me Hersh and take me fishing and taught me how to read and promised me that he would always protect me could do such a thing. I didn‘t believe that my father could do something like that. I still don‘t understand how – but he did. He opened the door, and he told the guards to shoot them. And then he turned his back and shut the door, and I heard the shots. And I ran, I ran outside to see them lying there, in their own blood, lifeless. Dead. And somehow, I don‘t know how I grabbed Bronev and dragged him to the edge of the roof. I was looking into his eyes – eyes like mine, and eyes like Lizzie‘s, and I wanted to jump, to die and pull him with me. I told him that he wasn‘t my father, not anymore and that it would all end now. Just… end. And he… he asked me whether that was what they would have wanted. And then he… he hit me in the neck and I passed out.

When I woke up, I was somewhere in the hospital. Raymond was there. They had killed my wife, my daughter. They had burned down our house, after stealing all the research we had I presume. They took everything from me – my mother, my wife, my child, my father and my brother who had forgotten who they once were. They had taken everything – except my life. But I wish they had killed me right then and there. Because I… I wasn‘t alive anymore. Not really. Not without them."

He was sobbing uncontrollably now, tears streaming down his cheeks, his eyes all red and puffy. The look in his eyes was so pained, so empty. He looked so small now, and so sad, almost like a lost little child. Emmy couldn‘t help but pity him. She herself was also crying a bit, without noticing it much. Even though she felt a little dizzy standing up, she managed to walk over to him. She sat down next to him, while he was quietly weeping still. He had his knees pulled to his chest, his arms hugging his legs tightly to his body. Emmy silently took the blanket from her own shoulders and put half of it over his, embracing him in the process. He didn‘t resist the contact, and she could feel his chest rise and fall with every sobbing breath. She wanted to comfort him, somehow, but she couldn‘t just tell him that everything was alright. Because it wasn‘t. It might never be again.

"It‘s over now", she said instead, quietly. "It‘s all over..."


	3. Like Father Like Son

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emmy and Raymond have a little chat about the similarities between Des and his father...

The light of the morning sun shined through the window when Emmy woke up. She didn‘t quite remember falling asleep and was surprised when she realized that she was alone in the room. The young woman got up with a yawn, before stretching herself and judging that she felt much better than yesterday.

“Ah, good morning, Miss Emmy“, she heard Raymond say as the old Scotsman entered with a tray in his hands. “I hope you‘ve got your appetite back“, he smiled as he put it down on the table in front of her. Only then did Emmy notice how hungry she was, not having eaten anything in the last day or so.

“Yes, thank you, Raymond“, she answered, sat down again and began to eat a slice of toast with baked beans. The food tasted heavenly, and she was once more reminded of the time they had all spent together on the search for the Azran legacy. Emmy gulped down the glass of orange juice after finishing her plate, looking up at the butler again.

“Do you know where – where he is?“, she asked him.

“My master has gone out quite a while ago, and I have an idea where he might have gone“, was his diplomatic answer. “Why do you want to know, Miss?“

“I‘m just wondering, that‘s all. He was pretty… upset last night.“

“And you‘re worried he might…?“, the old man questioned.

“Maybe. Argh, I don‘t know. He was just… weird last night, that‘s all. He basically told me his whole life story, and now I am somehow sorry for him and maybe a little bit worried“, she huffed, suddenly almost angry at herself for feeling that way.

“How can you live with him, if he‘s like that?“, Emmy suddenly asked.

Raymond seemed a little surprised but mostly amused by that question.

“I suppose I got used to it, Miss“, he smiled before he sat down next to her. Keats jumped up at his lap and he stroked the feline's fur while contemplating further.

“My master and I have known each other for a long time now, and in a way, his family was like my own. I became more than just a servant to them – in a way, I became a friend of the family. The little lass quickly adopted me as her uncle when I moved in with them. I had known my mistress since she was just a young girl when I started in her families service. She was very dear to me, they all were. I walked the girl down the aisle, I was there when her own little daughter was born. I stood by her side when her mother passed. But I wasn‘t there when they died…

That was something my master had to go through alone, but I will never forget how he looked at me when I told him – when he knew that it wasn‘t all just a bad dream. When he told me that he would avenge them, that he would put an end to Targent and the Azran once and for all. And he asked me to help him. To stay with him. And I did“, Raymond sighed. He looked really old now and tired as well.

“Of course it wasn‘t easy to see him like that – so full of hate and despair. I‘ve lost count of all the times I was afraid he would go too far – and sometimes he did. I‘ve wondered whether I should try to stop him a few times, but I don‘t think I could have. I don‘t think anyone could have. He was so full of rage, and I felt like it was burning him alive. Like the madness was consuming him. But I don‘t think it ever did. There was always a little bit of kindness left, I think. He wanted so desperately to leave these feelings behind, but in the end, there would always be a little bit of Desmond Sycamore left behind the mask that Jean Descole wore. And I thought, that maybe if I was very lucky, I could save him“, Raymond said.

“I think I know what you mean“, Emmy answered. She thought about Uncle Leon, and how he had slowly drifted away from her, moving up in the reins of Targent – away from her. How he would grow cold, how he would start seeing her as a pawn to be used. She looked up, trying to shake the thought, and was met by the eyes of the old Scotsman.

“I suppose that in the end, he was much more like his father than he would have hoped“, Raymond mused.

Emmy frowned, considering this comment thoroughly. There were undoubtedly a lot of similarities between the two men, but in the end, Emmy thought them to be quite different.

While Descole had tried to be cunning and manipulative, he never seemed to really understand people, not when it mattered. His impressions were formidable on the surface, but they always seemed to be lacking something. In Monte d‘Or, he had failed to recognize the true nature of Angelas and Henry's relationship. He had not noticed when his experiment on Janice had worked, he had not succeeded at fooling Luke‘s mother. The more she thought about it, the clearer it seemed to her – while her host seemed to have a lot of experience with it, he wasn‘t really a good manipulator, not much of a natural liar. All his schemes and disguises, illusions like smoke and mirrors, tried to distract from it – but in the end, it dawned upon Emmy, Descole had done and said things to people that he himself might have found convincing. But he had never really understood what those he tried to manipulate might want, what they would fall for. If anything, he had been lucky that Clark and Mr Whistler, Henry and Randall somehow – by sheer coincidence – had just enough in common with him that it had worked out in the end.

“He really isn‘t good with people“, Emmy mumbled and promptly earned a knowing smile from Raymond who almost seemed to have read her mind.

“No, I presume not“, he remarked with a twinkle in his eyes.

As if he found it endearing somehow, Emmy pondered. But then she remembered the time they had all spent travelling together, just a few months ago, and she realised that she, too, had found Professor Sycamore‘s awkwardness strangely, well, endearing. Sometimes annoying, often quite amusing, but yes, usually endearing was the right way to describe his mannerisms. How he would try to project an aura of confidence, only to destroy it by adjusting his tie or his glasses just one time too many, clearly a nervous habit. How he would smile, maybe just a bit too much, revealing his poorly hidden insecurity. The way he would be easily offended by people insulting his hair – why he had decided to wear it like that in the first place was a mystery to Emmy – and the terrible jokes he would tell. And Emmy was quite sure that not all of that could have been an act – or could it?

“Did he really use to be like – like that?“, Emmy suddenly asked the old Scotsman that was still sitting next to her. “Like he was during our journey together?“

Raymond smiled at her, a bittersweet sort of smile, as he remembered what his master was like before all that misfortune had wrenched his soul and torn him apart.

“Yes, he did.

When I first met him, I remember, he tried so desperately to make the perfect impression on my mistress. He wore very proper clothes, he made what he thought to be the most suitable kind of polite conversation – and then Miss Alice laughed. I can‘t quite remember what he had said, it must have been something he memorized from a book on victorian etiquette or something. And Miss Alice laughed, and she told him that he would scare her if he continued talking like that. He blushed a deep crimson, and then my mistress laughed too – and I must confess, so did I – and then the young Miss kissed him on his cheek, ruffled his hair and told him that this was her family – _his_ new family – and that he did not have to pretend. I think that was the first time I saw him actually smile.

Later I came to understand that that had been his life – a game of deception, of pretending, all the time. Lying about who he was and where he came from, pretending to be someone he wasn‘t. Playing the role of the perfect student and academic, never letting anyone see how he truly felt. And yet, as you said, he was never really good at it. Never good with people, with emotions. He wasn‘t actually good at lying – not on the spot anyway. He could never hide his feelings well, especially not from the young Miss. Not from anyone who knew him, really. And he couldn‘t detach himself from those feelings, either. For all that he was intelligent and rational, he could never really suppress a sudden emotion. Pretending - a game he had mastered on the superficial level – was, in the end, something that he despised, I think. And that tired him because his natural temper wasn‘t suited for it at all.

Even in the later years, when he had assumed the guise of Jean Descole, he would always prefer for someone else to stand on the front line. And even though he had mastered the art of disguise, he would only ever play another person‘s role if there was no other way. I had to pretend to be the Triton‘s butler for most of the time, and despite all the excellent disguises, the near-perfect mimicking of another‘s voice, my master still managed to arouse suspicion in the short hours he assumed the role. And whenever he came back from there, he was always terribly exhausted. Because in the end, it wasn‘t staging a play what he did, no, he had to improvise. And he loathed that. Too little control, too many uncertainties for him. He would rather make everything part of a well-scripted, well thought out dramatic play. And preferably wait in the wings to make a single, grant entrance at the very end and be done with it. Because he did, quite obviously, always have a hang for the dramatic – or for the arts in general, I suppose.

That was one thing that Miss Alice loved so greatly about him. That he had the mind of a scholar and a scientist – intelligent, rational, always curious yet constantly weighing the risks – but the soul of an artist – passionate and emotional and desperate to create beauty. And in a way, he himself was always afraid of the latter part of him, thought his life would be so much easier without it because he couldn‘t quite understand those things he felt himself. But Alice always did. He didn‘t have to pretend for her.“

“They must have been very happy together“, Emmy mused.

“They were. Truly happy together, right up until the end. It would have surprised people who did not know him well, but I think the thing that my master always wanted most was a family – to be loved, to be at home somewhere. For all the wonderful things he could do – I have never seen him happier than when he read a story to Lizzie on his lap, Miss Alice laying her head on his shoulder. He would give up the opportunity to hold a presentation at the most renowned conference for archaeology in Britain to look after Lizzie when she had measles. No expedition was more important than Miss Alice birthday. I remember when Lizzie had accidentally broken one of his inventions in the cellar – he had worked on it for months – and he could no longer be mad at her when she started to cry.“

Emmy smiled, imagining the scene - Desmond being all angry and trying to sound authoritative, and then just melting when a little girl started to cry, suddenly very eager to cheer her up. She remembered when she was little – how she broke one of her uncle's artefacts while playing. It was just a small shard of pottery. Uncle Leon had not screamed at her, he had just stared her down silently before telling her to clean up the mess and be more careful next time. How his anger was like ice – like stone-cold and covert and so very lasting. Neither Desmond nor Descole had ever been like that. Their anger was like burning flames – hot and visible and usually extinguished just as quickly as it was lit. Descole hated with a passion, his destruction, Emmy realised now, was the product of passion and despair. Uncle Leon was nothing like that – he didn‘t hate with a passion. Emmy didn‘t think he hated anyone, really. No, he just looked down on people, people that didn‘t share his – ambition.

He had often told her about this dream – giving humanity a brighter future. Saving it from hunger and disease through miraculous, ancient technology. But the more she thought about, she more she understood that this hadn‘t been about the world, really. It had been about him.

“You know, Raymond, I think you are wrong about your master“, Emmy suddenly said.

“Hm?“, murmured the old Scotsman, furrowing his eyebrows.

“He was nothing like his father, not really. Leon Bronev wanted to be great – powerful and smart and important. But Des – he just wanted to be ordinary, really. An ordinary man, with an ordinary, lovely family and an ordinary life.

That‘s the tragedy in all of this, you see? Leon Bronev wasn‘t such a great archaeologist. He was not really a great scholar – aunt Rachel was much smarter than he was, I think. But he wanted to be. He was ambitious, and he thought, if he really, really wanted it, he could make history. Change the world. And Desmond, he apparently was a bloody prodigy, but you say it never really mattered to him because the thing he wanted most – a home, a family, to belong somewhere, to be loved – life wouldn‘t give him that, no matter how hard he worked for it. And that‘s how they could get into such a fight!

Uncle Leon could have never imagined why someone – why his own son – would throw his talent away just to live a content, ordinary life like that. And Des – I don‘t think he actually thought that his father would hurt his own family like that, not when they could all go home and drink tea and be happy. His daughter and his wife – they didn‘t die because he was so much like his father. They died because they were so different“, Emmy finished, tears rolling down her cheeks. She brushed them off carelessly with the back of her hand.

“Why did they have to be so different?“, she added, almost a whisper.

“Why must life always be so terribly unfair?“

“Because fate is a cruel mistress,“ Desmond answered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi... I am not dead! This new chapter is sorta dedicated to the drownout movement, which has motivated me to start writing again. And to Hannah (@nextyeardarling) and in particular her wonderful german fic "keeping up with the bronevs" which has held up my spirits during the lockdown. I hope you like it! Criticism and character discussion and stuff in the comments is greatly appreciated :)


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